


No Satisfaction

by Laylah



Category: Jyu-Oh-Sei
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Gen, Mind Games, Power Dynamics, Punishment, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-19
Updated: 2011-08-19
Packaged: 2017-10-22 19:43:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She takes the whip off her belt and raises it so the rest of the hall can see it. "The law allows me forty lashes to repay an insult like this. I will take them all."</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Satisfaction

The banquet's going pretty well, but Third is quiet, which means there's trouble on the horizon. When nothing is really going on, he keeps up a better just-one-of-the-guys front. The Top's falling all over himself trying to impress Chen, with about as much success as usual, and around the banquet hall the guys who've been chosen by Sun Ring women are beaming with excitement. It doesn't even look like there are any fights brewing, from what Rada can see—sometimes a man who wasn't chosen will try to pick fights with a rival, frustrated that he wasn't found worthy, but this year it's going relatively smoothly. Rada glances at Third, and Third is looking up toward the high table.

They're close enough to see the leering, hopeful expression on the Top's face, but not close enough to hear the exact words he says to Chen. It's pretty clear it's a proposition, though. As if she could somehow have missed the fact that he's desperate for her to choose him.

She stands up to answer, though, and raises her voice enough to cut through the chatter at the tables. "I made a choice for this month of joining," she says, "and my choice has not been honored. Top, one of your people has insulted me, and through me he's insulted the Sun Ring."

The Top goes red in the face, scowling; Rada flinches, but he notices Third actually seems to be relaxing into his seat. "Of course we'd never want to insult you," the Top says. "You're our valuable allies." He's never been good at politics. He'll probably take whatever out she gives him, to stop being on the spot like this.

Chen nods to him, but she's looking at Third. "Your Third refused my choice," she says.

"Third, you idiot!" the Top barks, standing up so fast he knocks his chair over. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"You could still change your mind," Rada murmurs. "It's personal for her. She'd still take you. Or you could claim injury, disease, something to make you unfit to—"

Third shakes his head, standing smoothly to answer. "I'm sorry, Top," he says. "I don't have a good excuse."

The Top looks like he wants to come over the table and throttle Third with his bare hands. Chen only narrows her eyes, her fists clenched at her sides. "If he won't defend his behavior," she says, "then I demand satisfaction." She takes the whip off her belt and raises it so the rest of the hall can see it. "The law allows me forty lashes to repay an insult like this. I will take them all."

"Apologize," Rada hisses. "Do it now."

"Done," the Top bellows. "You're getting off easy here, Third!"

"Spoken like a man who's never felt the whip," Third says, softly enough for only Rada to hear. "You'll help me to the infirmary after?"

"Top's right, you're an idiot," Rada says, but Third is already walking away. The hall is mostly quiet, only a little bit of muttering as Third walks down the aisle between the tables, toward the empty space between the high table and the others. Sometimes an impromptu Try will happen there, or a less formal match between lower-ranked fighters, and it's the most public arena for punishment that the Ochre Ring has.

Chen and Third meet there, standing in front of the wall, where an iron ring is bolted into the stone above head-height. Third says something, bowing his head in an apologetic gesture; the set of Chen's jaw is hard and unhappy. She asks a question. He shakes his head. She takes a a breath, deep enough to make her shoulders shift, and steps back.

Third turns away from her, stripping his shirt off over his head. He's lean enough to have little padding over his ribs, his shoulderblades; when he reaches up to grab hold of the ring with both hands, the shift of bones in his back is visible. Rada doesn't want to watch, but he doesn't dare look away. How Third carries himself here will be crucial for his standing in the Ring, and for the seething rivalry starting to build between him and the Top.

Chen lets her whip uncoil and fall loose, her attention entirely on Third. Her stance is easy and practiced, but she doesn't look pleased. She takes a practice swing to gauge the distance, cracking her whip beside Third's shoulder, and Rada has to stifle a flinch at the sharp sound. A hush falls over the hall in its wake.

The first stroke of the whip catches Third high along his back, on his left shoulder; the impact shudders him, but he doesn't make a sound. The dull smack of leather on flesh is sound enough. Chen draws back and strikes again, a smooth roll of her shoulder and arm amplified by the whip's length. Rada isn't close enough to see if Third's back is flushing red yet—it's hard to tell in a man dark enough for the Ochre Ring. He chews his lip, watching.

If Chen were anything like their own Ring's Top, she'd be gloating now, but she has more restraint than that. This isn't really what she wants, and it shows; she's saving her reputation as Top of the Sun Ring women, but there's no pleasure in her face as the whip falls. Rada would bet the pink blush across her cheekbones is exertion, nothing more.

It takes eight strokes before Third makes a noise, barely more than a hiss of too-sharp breath. Rada starts working his way through the crowd so he can be close enough to see what's going on more clearly—close enough to help, hopefully, if it gets bad enough that Third needs him. The whip keeps falling as he moves, and as he gets closer he can see the fine tremors in Third's back. It must be taking effort to keep quiet.

Rada stops when he's as close as he dares. It's not warm in the cavernous hall, but Third's bare back shines with a thin layer of sweat, a match for Chen's brow. Her lips move silently, and Rada would bet she's counting the strokes, just as he is. _Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-one._

By twenty-three, Rada thinks he can see bruises forming, purple-black shadow under the brown of Third's skin. By twenty-five, he's sure of it. The trembling in Third's arms is becoming more visible, his hands gripping the ring tighter with each lash. Chen doesn't falter. He's made it more than halfway now. It's taking a toll on him, but—

On the next stroke, two things happen: Third groans at the pain, finally, and the swollen flesh of his shoulder splits neatly under the impact, a line of blood running quick and bright down his back.

Rada glances up toward the high table. A Top who cared more about keeping cohesion in his Ring would call a halt now and ask Chen if she were satisfied with first blood, but theirs won't do any such thing. He looks like he's been waiting for this, the bastard.

 _Third_ , Rada thinks. _What are you getting out of this? Why did you let it go this far?_

Chen's next few strokes avoid the open cut, landing lower or on the other side—but that strategy only works until Third's skin surrenders there, too, a second gash opening and then a third. Six strokes to go, and every one of them is going to draw more blood.

Now Chen hesitates. "Third," she says.

He raises his head. "I won't ask you to go easy on me," he says, loud and clear. "I know this is what I've earned."

Rada doesn't miss the pained look on Chen's face. Third has pushed her into a position where she can't stop, and where she can't ask for anything more after this, and it looks like she doesn't even realize that was deliberate. "Brace yourself," she says.

Third nods once.

Chen delivers the last six strokes without a pause, her body moving almost in a dance, the whip whistling as it flies through the air. Blood splatters the stone, runs freely down Third's back. He does cry out in pain now, the sound half-lost under the rising noise of the crowd as they watch him struggle to hold on—there are probably bets on whether he'd last the whole forty without dropping—and his fingers slip from the iron ring only seconds after the last stroke falls.

Rada is there to catch him as he crumples, shouldering one of his arms, giving him something to lean on. "That was reckless," he murmurs.

Third nods. His breathing is ragged, but he makes himself stand up straight. "You have my apologies, again," he says to Chen. "And I hope this has given you some satisfaction."

"Thank you," she says stiffly, even though it's clear that it hasn't.

But she probably won't ever ask him again—she might even believe she owes him, after watching him bleed. It's just possible that for Third, that's enough.


End file.
